


Salomé

by soulmate328



Series: The Lengendary Half-Brothers [3]
Category: Salomé - Oscar Wilde, TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, And much worse than the original play, Angst, Consensual Underage Sex, Drama & Romance, Half-Sibling Incest, Inspired by Ocar Wilde's play, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Old-Fashioned Plot, Parody, Smut, Tragic Romance, Underage Sex, Years of the Trees
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:33:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26137402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulmate328/pseuds/soulmate328
Summary: I have kissed thy mouth.
Relationships: Fëanor | Curufinwë/Fingolfin | Ñolofinwë
Series: The Lengendary Half-Brothers [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1869997
Comments: 6
Kudos: 13





	1. Scene I

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [莎乐美](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26104117) by [soulmate328](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulmate328/pseuds/soulmate328). 



> This is a work originally written to celebrate the Valentine's Day in my country, inspired by Oscar Wilde's Salomé. Because I'm not a native English speaker, the writing may not be that fluent or beautiful, feel free to point out any mistake in the comments!

**The persons of the play**

Finwë, High King of the Noldor

Indis, High Queen of the Noldor

Fëanáro, First Child and Eldest Son of the High King

Ñolofinwë, Third Child and Second Son of the High King

Findis, Second Child and Eldest Daughter of the High King

Lalwendë, Fourth Child and Second Daughter of the High King

Arafinwë, Youngest Child and Third Son of the High King

Scene I: In Tirion, the three clans of the Eldar in Valinor gathered together. The first day of the feast, during the Mingling. Outside the Hall, the princes and princesses of the Noldor are chatting.

Lalwendë: Our eldest brother looks sombre.

Arafinwë: How beautiful is the Princess Eärwen! She is like Telperion just after the Mingling, bright but gentle.

Findis: Fëanáro has no love for our mother. Look, his cheeks are pale like the snow on Taniquetil, his eyes are coal shimmering with fiery sparks. All the joy at the feast seem unrelated to him.

Arafinwë: Her hair is like the silk in Vairë's mulberry woods, her hands a pair of dancing white butterflies. Her voice is as sweet as the sound of dew dripping from the leaves of the Trees! I've never seen such a woman.

Lalwendë: Mother is pouring wine for father. Fëanáro's eyes are even more sombre; he curled up a leg in his seat.

Findis: The noble High King gifted his children three kinds of vintage. One is the ale made from northern wheat, dark as the sky, gifted to Ñolofinwë and Lalwen. Another is the liquor made from southern rice, yellow as molten gold, gifted to me and Ingoldo. The third is the cider made from western apples, red as blood, gifted to Fëanáro alone. But the wine of the High King himself is made from the grapes in Yavanna's vineyards, and is purple like the cloak of Ingwë. Only the Queen has the right to pour it into the King's cup. Fëanáro thinks our mother has taken his mother's place.

Lalwendë: It is not so. Námo has conveyed Lady Míriel's words; she stayed in Mandos of her own will.

Findis: Fëanáro doesn't accept. The scar of losing a mother cracks every time he lays eyes on Indis of the Vanyar.

Arafinwë: Father wants us to give presents to one another. What gift should I give her? What jewel could match with the daughter of Olwë?

Lalwendë: Stop looking at her, you stare too much. Look, Fëanáro has left his seat, and is coming this way!

_Enter Fëanáro._

Fëanáro: I cannot stay any longer! How can I suffer that Vanyar woman sitting shamelessly on my mother's seat, accepting my father's love like she deserves it? And my father, my beloved King Finwë, has been led astray. An Eldar must only have one spouse in his life, that is the unbreakable rule.

Lalwendë: You--

Findis: (Stopped her sister and bowed to Fëanáro) Your Highness.

Fëanáro: Do not talk to me, child of Indis.

Findis: I did not talk to you, I simply greeted you. It is the basic curtesy.

Fëanáro: Then you can shut your mouth now.

Lalwendë: How dare he speaks with us in such insolent manner? We are of the Noldorin royalty, just like him, and should be respected!

Findis: We do not need to prove this by quarreling with him.

Fëanáro: How beautiful is the light of the Trees! Yavanna's creations give me great joy. In that Hall, the smoke of candles suffocates me, the Vanyar are marble sculptures, and the Teleri are no better than beasts. Even the Noldor, my dark-haired kin, tirelessly flatter their so-called new Queen, and speak with the wrong pronounciation. One day I will invent a light that requires no burning, and make my people speak as their true Queen prefers. How can I stay there! Only in this place I can breathe, I can feel the order and beauty of life. The light of the Trees glow and dim at the exact same time, and goes on in this manner to the end of time. But will it truly be so? Will they wither someday too, as the great weaver has perished?

The Voice of the Priest: (Valarin) Then the voices of the Ainur, like unto harps and lutes, and pipes and trumpets, and viols and organs, and like unto countless choirs singing with words, began to fashion the theme of Ilúvatar to a great music; and a sound arose of endless interchanging melodies woven in harmony that passed beyond hearing into the depths and into the heights, the places of the dwelling of Ilúvatar were filled to overflowing, and the music and the echo of the music went out into the Void, and it was not Void.

Fëanáro: Who speaks?

Findis: It is the priest of the Noldor, Your Highness.

Fëanáro: There are priests on pilgrimage among the Noldor?

Findis: Not as many as they are among the Vanyar, but on this special occasion, many Noldor joined them as well.

Fëanáro: His voice is like the rumble of glaciers in northern mountains, the hollow echoes of the water of Ekkaia falling out of the world. His special cadence made even Valarin pleasant, a languge that is not meant for the ears of the Eldar!

_Fëanáro runs to the edge of the garden to see the priest on the road of pilgrimage._

Fëanáro: And the Elf that did all this is so young! He must be younger than me.

_Enter a servant._

Servant: Your Highness, the High King summons you to return to the feast.

Fëanáro: Go tell my father that I do not wish to return. I will not degrade myself by being in the same room with Indis any longer.

The Voice of the Priest: (Valarin) For the Children of Ilúvatar were conceived by him alone; and they came with the third theme, and were not in the theme which Ilúvatar propounded at the beginning, and none of the Ainur had part in their making. Therefore when they beheld them, the more did they love them, being things other than themselves, strange and free, wherein they saw the mind of Ilúvatar reflected anew, and learned yet a little more of his wisdom, which otherwise had been hidden even from the Ainur.

Fëanáro: What a special youth! I will speak with him.

Lalwendë: No, the priests on the road of pilgrimage must not speak to anyone.

Fëanáro: Then I shall look upon him.

_Exit the servant. Fëanáro came on the road to the priest's side._

Fëanáro: How strange, that he is so pale as a Noldor! His hands are like the white roses in Queen Míriel's garden, his arms the white birches in spring, his body the shimmer of Telperion's light on the Lake of Estë, his bare feet the eternal snow on Taniquetil.

The Voice of the Priest: (Valarin) So began their great labors in wastes unmeasured and unexplored, and in ages uncounted and forgotten, until in the Deeps of Time and in the midst of the vast halls of Eä there came to be that hour and that place where was made the habitation of the Children of Ilúvatar.

Fëanáro: His eyes! I've never seen such eyes among the Noldor. His eyes are like unpolished tanzanites, like the morning mists on the sea, like the fifth ray of light when the light of the Trees is broken by a prism. His eyes are bluer than Manwë's mantle, grayer than Varda's necklace.

The Voice of the Priest: (Valarin) The Valar walked on Earth as powers visible, clad in the raiment of the World, and were lovely and glorious to see, and blissful, and that the Earth was becoming as a garden for their delight, for its turmoils were subdued.

Fëanáro: He wears a mask that covers the upper half of his face. Why does he do so?

Findis: He is temporarily the priest of Námo. The face of the Lord of the Dead must not be easily seen, so he covers his likeness.

Fëanáro: Still, I can see his lips. Oh, his lips! His lips are pomegranates cut open by porcelain knives, like the oozing blood in the flesh when a hunter's arrow hit its prey. His lips are like vermillion mined from the ores, like the feet of those who tread the wine in the wine-press. Only the rose given by Finwë to Míriel could compare to the red of his lips!

The Voice of the Priest: (Valarin) And thus was the habitation of the Children of Ilúvatar established at the last in the Deeps of Time and amidst the innumerable stars...(fading in the distance)

Fëanáro: I must meet him and talk to him.

Lalwendë: You can't. The pilgrimage of the priest must not be disturbed.

Fëanáro: Where is his destination?

Findis: (A little panicked) Please, Your Highness, do not disturb that young priest.

Fëanáro: I will wait for him at his destination, welcome him when he finishes his pilgrimage. Where is his destination?

Lalwendë: I will not tell you.

Findis: Please don't go, Your Highness.

Fëanáro: Arafinwë, tell me, where is the young priest's destination?

Arafinwë: Your Highness, the pilgrimage of the priest must not be disturbed.

Fëanáro: Oh, Arafinwë, my half-brother. I saw the way you look at the princess of Alqualondë. I will write you a beautiful love letter; you can send it to Eärwen's chamber and win her heart. I will do this, if you tell me the destination of that priest.

Arafinwë: You cannot demand me of this, Your Highness.

Fëanáro: I will forge a necklace with the best silver, diamonds and lapis lazuli. I will fashion it as beautiful as Varda's constellations, as the branches of Telperion. You can settle it around Eärwen's slender neck with your own hands. I will do this, if you tell me the destination of that priest.

Arafinwë: I can't, Your Highness. I can't.

Fëanáro: I will sew you a magnificent robe, with linen of snowy white, silk of watery blue, and satin of shining gold. I will scatter pearls on your belt, and forge a circlet that matches your golden hair, platinum inlaid with opals. You can wear them, becoming as bright and handsome as one of the Powers, and present yourself to Eärwen. I will do this, if you tell me the destination of that priest.

Arafinwë: (Takes a deep breath) You will find him, Your Highness, at the foot of the seventh mountain north of Taniquetil.

Lalwendë: Ingoldo!

Findis: No, no.

Fëanáro: Thank you, half-brother. I will fulfil my promise.

_Exit Fëanáro._

Findis: Bad things will happen soon. This will not end well!

Arafinwë: What's the matter? The prince said he will wait at the final destination, not to disturb the priest's pilgrimage.

Lalwendë: I just don't like his attitude.

Findis: It's not about him, my brother and sister. Do you know who the priest is?

Lalwendë: Who is he?

Arafinwë: Who is he?

Findis: No other than our beloved brother, Ñolofinwë.


	2. Scene II

Scene II: At the foot of the seventh mountain north of Taniquetil. The second day of the feast, during Laurelin shimmers.

Fëanáro: I will see him soon! I can hear him reading the scriptures, his footsteps on the grass. Why am I in such a mess? It's his eyes; he didn't speak to me, but his glance he cast upon me, and made my heart flutter like a hopping newborn fawn. He must be the most beautiful youth in the world. Oh my goodness, I can't breathe! I left that suffocating feast in search of freedom, yet I was captured by something else, this time willingly. Look at me, dressed in fiery silk, gilded eyelids, hair in disarray, like a clown expecting in bewilderment his first performance! Why did I choose to meet him in this outfit? My quick mind must be stricken dumb by his eyes. I only hope my speech wouldn't be.

_Enter Ñolofinwë._

Fëanáro: Here he comes! He hasn't changed a bit...by the Valar, what was I saying? Look, his robe is white, as pure as Vána the ever young, yet he set my blood ablaze.

Ñolofinwë: (Put down his staff and scriptures, bowed) Prince Curufinwë Fëanáro, Your Royal Highness.

Fëanáro: No, please, there is no need for this formality! Just call me Fëanáro, I like the tone and rhythm when you say my name. Tell me your name, young priest, so that I can call you thus. Remove your mask, young priest, so that I can admire your beauty as a whole.

Ñolofinwë: No, forgive me...Fëanáro, I must not do it now. My pilgrimage may be done, but before the end of the feast, before I take off this holy robe, I must not let others know my name or see my face.

Fëanáro: Your refusal stung me, young Noldor. Then I shall call you Vénë, for you must be a virgin.

Ñolofinwë: Whatever you like.

Fëanáro: Come to me, my pure Vénë. Come sit with me, and speak with me.

(Fëanáro pulled Ñolofinwë down to sit beside him on the grass)

Fëanáro: I have never heard of such pleasant Valarin. The language of the Powers are not meant for Elven ears, yet somehow you added an exceptional beauty in it. How did you do it?

Ñolofinwë: Valarin is unpleasant not because of its pronounciation, but due to the nature of the Ainur. They are the creators of Arda and are part of her, but the world isn't alltogether perfect, so their language will not sound pleasant either. Everything has two sides; to make the Valarin words beautiful, simply think about beautiful things.

Fëanáro: I wish to hear you speak in that manner again. Can you answer me in Valarin?

Ñolofinwë: I'm very sorry, Fëanáro, but if you wish to hear the way I spoke before, I will not be able to reproduce it. My heart was calm, with only the trees, the earth, the wind, the stars, and the water in my mind. But you came to me as sudden as a shooting star, and stirred my thoughts into a mess. The Valarin I speak now will only be the sound of fire burning and cracking, for that is the reflection of my heart.

Fëanáro: You heard my praise for you?

Ñolofinwë: Every word.

Fëanáro: Oh, my talks of gibberish! Please allow me to say them again; this time I'll organize them more beautifully.

Ñolofinwë: Please don't. I'm afraid no matter how beautiful your words are, I will not hear them now. You came upon me, as astonishing as a spark of bonfire in the stretching Pelorí, like the gold among sand on riverbeds that appear and fade. You made me feel that the sky is below and the earth is above, hot is cold and cold his hot. How will I be able to distinct what you say?

Fëanáro: Thank Yavanna, that excitement and stupor do not belong to me alone! (Kneeling in front of Ñolofinwë) If I could never leave this place and return to my kin, I will not! I can build a little house here, listen to you speak with that beautiful voice, til the end of the world.

Ñolofinwë: I have my duty, and you have yours. We must return to our kin.

Fëanáro: Then at least stay with me for one good day, my kind Vénë. Let us forget all that noise and displeasure, and leave only light and us in Arda.

Ñolofinwë: You scare me, Fëanáro. I am...no one but a priest, no different than any other priest. How am I deserving of your passion?

Fëanáro: No other elf has your skin, your hair, your eyes, and your lips. No other priest passed by me except you, and captured my heart with that pure, loving glance.

Ñolofinwë: Then if it was someone else that passed by, this incredible encounter will not happen at all? Am I only special for the path I took?

Fëanáro: The Powers often say that the fate of Arda had been settled since the creation of the Music in ancient times. If it was you, not anyone else, who passed by me, then it must not be a coincidence. Your melody and my melody are meant to intertwine at that moment, and stretch on in perfect harmony.

Ñolofinwë: You worry me, Fëanáro. I've never seen any elf as passionate as you, or any love as hot as yours. You are like the spinning fires and nebulas in Eä that I saw through my mother's telescope. Before meeting you, I do not know the emotions of the Eldar could be this strong. What should I do? I fear that I will be burned by your fire, and sink forever in daze.

Fëanáro: Oh, I'm afraid it is me that you just described, my dear Vénë. While you fear to be burned, I am already burning. I'm familiar with the fire of the soul, that spark of inspiration that made ideas pour into my mind like waves and my hands deft and skillful. But this fire that burns in my body feel strange. I cannot remember the delicate words, and only make sighs and exclaims. My fingers have lost their deftness, shaking and shivering. Fire flows through my veins. I feel that I'm boiling!

Ñolofinwë: Come, let me soothe your anxiety.

Fëanáro: (Pressing himself into Ñolofinwë's embrace) You help me not a bit, Vénë. What is this feeling? I feel that I can do anything, yet I can do nothing at all. I came dressed up to see you, yet now those clothes only feels burdensome. I should've come to you naked, and spare all these discomfort.

Ñolofinwë: Let me serve you, noble prince.

(Ñolofinwë removes Fëanáro's clothes)

Fëanáro: (Blushing, holds Ñolofinwë close) Don't look at me, don't look at me! I said I should've come to you naked, but only when I actually do this I know I was bragging when my head overheats. No one has ever seen me like this except for my father and my mother. Let me see you naked skin too. I cannot bear to be alone in this embarrassment.

(Fëanáro removes Ñolofinwë's clothes)

Ñolofinwë: Now it is my turn to be embarrassed, Fëanáro. Compared with you, I am just a fledgling with sparse feathers, neither as strong or as handsome as you. But what right do I have to ask you to turn away your gaze? I could only let you inspect me freely, and mock as you will this shameful immature form of mine.

Fëanáro: So I am not the only one who talks gibberish! Words of praise have become redundant in my mind; I only wish to hold you for all eternity, and let the fire in my blood burns me into ashes. Is it because of the cool breeze? My head is clearer now. I understand now, this is the desire of the body, the hunger and thirst of wanting to fuse and reach the heavens with a loved one. I have read about it in books, and had thought myself fully prepared to face it, but when lust truly comes, I surrender without a fight. I want you! I've never done anything like this with another elf, but I know something about it. Oh, I want you!

Ñolofinwë: (A bit frightened) No, I cannot do this. I have not come of age, according to the laws of the Eldar.

Fëanáro: The laws did not forbid elven youths from seeking of the pleasure of the flesh. You might still be young, but your body is matured enough for intercourse. Oh no, what was I saying, I sound like an elf with evil thoughts! I swear to Manwë and Varda that I will not hurt you, not even one hair. I will make both of us feel that unequaled joy.

Ñolofinwë: Can I not refuse?

Fëanáro: Will you refuse me? Will you leave and left me here alone, miserable as the cold of wind and water smother the flame of lust? Reason tells me that I should give you a choice, but I cannot, I cannot suffer your refusal. Just the thought itself tears me apart! If you will refuse, then cut off my head, so that I will not be tortured by unsatisfied want.

Ñolofinwë: Don't say that, Fëanáro. You scared me.

Fëanáro: Give me your answer. Will you accept me?

Ñolofinwë: (Struggled for a moment) I will, Fëanáro, I will! Your body is so hot I feel that I will melt on you. Guide me, love me, make me infatuated with you and devoted to you. I will give anything just for this moment of joy!

(Fëanáro picked him up happily, laughing as they roll in the flowers, and at last Fëanáro settles on top of Ñolofinwë)

Fëanáro: Let me remove your mask, Vénë. Soon that name will not fit you, and I can't even kiss you properly with that thing on your face.

Ñolofinwë: Please, Your Highness! Allow me this last bit of dignity.

Fëanáro: As you wish, my beautiful youth. If I cannot kiss your lips, I can only kiss elsewhere. The fruits in front of your chest are ripe for the taking, and you stomach is like marble that awaits me to bestow life. You are pale even there! I love the purity of the light of the Trees, yet all I want now is to tarnish yours.

Ñolofinwë: And I seduced you to throw away yours. I can feel you heat pressing against my thighs, making me shiver with fear and anticipation for the pain and joy you will give me. I am indeed sinful, to take the Valar so lightly.

Fëanáro: You talked nonsense again, but I fail to retort.

......

Ñolofinwë: Ohhh...! It hurts, Fëanáro...

Fëanáro: A little while, my love, I am in pain just like you are. Oh, you're so hot, you're so tight! I can't, I can't, I feel like giving up. Vénë, Vénë, Vénë!

Ñolofinwë: No, you can't, Fëanáro! You swore to Manwë and Varda that you will give me joy!

Fëanáro: Yes, I will stick to my promise...but how can I endure this! Your body is crushing and melting me. I don't think I will survive after all this. If I lay cold beside you, will you kiss my lips, shed tears and mourn for me?

Ñolofinwë: No. I will make love to you again, so that your soul comes back to your body in search of the pleasure.

Fëanáro: Do not tease me, I'm on the edge! Can I move, my Vénë? Are you still hurting?

Ñolofinwë: Perhaps this will truly work; I feel an itch seeping into my veins like the fragrance of Irmo's poppies, making me tremble not out of pain, but for this ethereal lightness. Move, Fëanáro, defile me, crush me, conquer me. Your arms are so strong; those are the arms of a smith. Scourge me, like you beat your jewels in the forge a thousand times.

Fëanáro: (Laughing, kissing his neck) I'm at a loss for words, but your voice is still sweet.

Ñolofinwë: Ah...! I love you, I love you, Fëanáro!

Fëanáro: You blue eyes are dazed, like Nienna's veil dancing in the breeze. How depraved! You are my first elf. It is on you that I first feel lust and give away my virginity, as you give me yours. You're close, aren't you? Quick, hurry, my Vénë, I feel your pleasure climbing as if to cross a mountain. Come for me, my Vénë, soar beneath me like the Eagles of Manwë, and I will fall like Ulmo's water.

Ñolofinwë: I'm dying, I'm dying...! Fëanáro!

......

(During the Mingling. Afterwards, Fëanáro gazing at Ñolofinwë sleeping in his arms)

Fëanáro: This all ended too fast! An older elf will surely have made the joy continue for a longer time, yet I'm just a fledgling. Will father guide me if I go ask him? But I don't want to move one inch; I can only feel my lover's soft skin, can only see his beautiful dark hair spreading on my shoulders, can only smell the foul scent of our lust. (Sit up to look down at Ñolofinwë) That mask annoys me. Why does he insist upon covering his face? Why wouldn't he tell me his name? He has given his explanations, but there is still doubt in my heart. I sense that he did so for other reasons. I want to see his face! I will just give it a peek, and I'll put the mask back on his face. He won't notice, he won't. I simply wish to know what my first love looks like.

(Fëanáro removes Ñolofinwë's mask)

Fëanáro: Wha...what? What is this...what? Why?

(The mask slipped from his hand, waking Ñolofinwë)

Ñolofinwë: Fëanáro...?

Fëanáro: Who are you? Who on earth are you?

Ñolofinwë: My mask! You promised me that you won't remove it!

Fëanáro: Answer me! You...you look just like my father. Who are you, who are you?!

Ñolofinwë: (Takes a deep breath) Brother, I...

Fëanáro: Brother? Brother? My first sex is with my close kin? (Laughed dryly, and his eyes grow cold) Brother...no, I don't have any brothers. You are the spawn of Indis?

Ñolofinwë: I...

Fëanáro: (Quickly stands up and backs away) You are that Ñolofinwë, that...half-Noldor, who took father's love, pride and attention, which all should belong to me alone? That child whom Indis is most proud of, the little robber who she put hope in taking my place?

Ñolofinwë: You still see me this way? After you praised my language, after we did all those things and gained so much pleasure?

Fëanáro: No wonder you have those eyes, no wonder! You damnable beauty comes from your mother, that Vanyar who is no match for Míriel in all aspects except for her pretty golden face!

Ñolofinwë: (Face darkening) My mother is an excellent climber, a wise organizer and a skilled diplomat. She is my mother, and I do not allow you to humiliate her!

Fëanáro: Speak, why did you lure me into this sweet trap? Did your mother order you to search for my weakness, so that she will one day expel me from father's heart?

Ñolofinwë: My mother has nothing to do with this! Our encounter is a coincidence, just like you said before. I simply walked on the road assigned to me, and saw you came to me. I lay my eyes on you because of your beauty and your heart-moving words. I didn't plan to do anything with you. You came to me, Fëanáro! You came to me!

Fëanáro: Do not call me thus! That name was give to me by my mother; the blood of Indis has no right to say it.

Ñolofinwë: You let me call you thus. Don't go, Fëanáro, don't go! I cannot suffer your refusal. I will put on my mask, I will pretend that none of this happened, I will pretend that I'm still your Vénë. I will make love to you again and make you happy! Just this day, don't leave me, you can hate me all you like afterwards! Please, Fëanáro!

Fëanáro: Back, product of disloyalty! I will never approve father's second marriage, as long as I am the son of Míriel.

Ñolofinwë: You are infatuated with me, Fëanáro. Or why are your eyes red?

Fëanáro: Back, you beautiful viper! My father was led astray by Vanyarin beauty, but I will not make the same mistake.

Ñolofinwë: You want me, Fëanáro. Or why do tears stream down your cheeks?

Fëanáro: Away, you who should not exist! Incinerate your body into ash, and keep your soul in Mandos for eternity, to buy back my mother's life. Then, and only then will I love you. I will love you only if you do not exist.

Ñolofinwë: You love me, Fëanáro. Or why you voice, beautiful as wine, were mixed with sobs?

Fëanáro: No, no!

(Fëanáro runs away)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vénë: Quenya "virgin"


	3. Scene III

Scene III: At Tirion's Feast Hall, the third day of the feast. Telperion shimmers.

Finwë: Where have you been, my dear child? Your cheeks are as white as plaster. Your eyes...have you cried?

Fëanáro: No, father, I'm fine. (Raises his glass) To the Flawless Light and the joy of the Blessed Realm!

Indis: He laughs like a madman.

Finwë: He doesn't look very well.

Indis: He was sulking on the feast all the time because of me, but now he's as passionate as fire. What led to his change?

Finwë: I worry for him.

Indis: Me too, but I'm not as shameless as to say my worry for him is on the same level as you. I worry more for my own children. He makes me afraid; Fëanáro never likes me. I do not fear him, but I fear that he would hurt my children.

Finwë: He will not do it. He does not approve of our marriage, but he is not bad. Besides, he loves me and respects me. He will not hurt his half-siblings, my children.

Indis: Words hurt as well, and often leave scars harder to heal than the pain of the body. Not to mention he has that famous talent in language. By Varda, I feel like a despicable elf, always thinking that others will use their talents against my children. But I cannot help myself, not when Fëanáro is considered. I bear no ill will towards him, but he makes me uneasy.

Finwë: I will protect you and our children. I did not marry you to let you suffer for my previous marriage.

Indis: You must protect Fëanáro too. It is your duty, something I cannot and have no right to change. In fact, you favor Fëanáro more than our children, without a doubt. Besides, all mothers suffer. It is the byproduct of our love for children.

Fëanáro: I used to think this place noisy, the feast too exciting and annoying. How young I was! No song, music, food, or wine stir anything inside me. Everything is so boring, like a useless husband who cannot satisfy his wife, like the feeling of unable to spill your seed into your lover's body.

Lalwendë: You sound as if you know how that feels.

Fëanáro: Oh, my dear half-sister. You will not understand.

Arafinwë: What's the matter with him? Fëanáro wouldn't even look at us in the past, not to mention call us like that.

Lalwendë: And it should be our honor to be called thus? I do not like to be called 'half,' even if he has his reason. It makes me feel like vegetables that can be weighted.

Findis: Something bad has happened. He went to see Ñolofinwë, what happened between them?

Arafinwë: He promised to help me win Eärwen's heart. But I sold my own brother for this, and I am ashamed. I will not tell him to fulfil his promise.

Lalwendë: You didn't mean it, Ingoldo. You didn't know the priest is Ñolofinwë.

Findis: Fëanáro is laughing, yet I see destruction in his smile.

Arafinwë: But he is known for his gift of creation.

Findis: Creation means understanding, and understanding is the power to destroy.

Fëanáro: Desire! What a queer thing. I once thought it is fire; not normal fire, but the secret fire of Ilúvatar. It drives us to discover and create, to add to the beauty of Arda, to bring happiness to our kin. But only recently I know that desire is the secret fire and common fire combined. Stay with some distance, you feel as warm as spring; stay closer, you sweat like a storm; even closer, you'll be red all over; throw yourself inside, you will be burned into ashes.

Arafinwë: Who hurts oneself just to satisfy one's own desire?

Fëanáro: If one cannot do it, it only means his desire is not strong enough.

Lalwendë: This is unhealthy and irresponsible. If an Elf hurts himself to satisfy his own desire, where does he place his kinsmen? Does he not care for his family's grief because he hurts himself?

Fëanáro: Are you saying that my mother was unhealthy and irresponsible?

Lalwendë: I...I...

Fëanáro: Answer me.

Findis: Lady Míriel did not hurt herself. She doesn't match with your description.

Lalwendë: I thought you always think your mother was _trapped_ in Mandos.

Fëanáro: So it was I who hurt her, wasn't it? My birth has led to her destruction.

Findis: I'm sorry to make you remember these sad things on this happy occasion. I'm truly sorry. Lalwen, Ingoldo, we'll find another place to stay.

Fëanáro: Sit down. This is your place.

Lalwendë: What right do you have to command us?

Fëanáro: I am your eldest brother.

Lalwendë: _Now_ you take yourself as our eldest brother!

Fëanáro: I command you to sit down. Stay here.

Findis: Do you need company, Your Highness? Do you need us to listen to you?

Fëanáro: That is not your concern.

Findis: If so, please let Lalwen and Ingoldo leave, if they do not wish to stay here. _I_ will stay here as you wish.

Fëanáro: Agreed.

Lalwendë: I will not abandon my sister!

Arafinwë: I will not leave.

Fëanáro: Good.

Findis: Then, please speak.

Fëanáro: In fact, now I wish to hear _you_ speak. You're all virgins, still preserving your purity. How do you look at lust, the desire of the body?

Lalwendë: (Blushing) Why does he ask us that!

Findis: Why do you ask such a question?

Fëanáro: I simply wish to know. Do not be shy and do not restrain, all elves will go through this sooner or later.

Arafinwë: I know nothing about lust, only have heard this word. Nor is my body mature enough to feel it.

Fëanáro: But you already have someone in your heart.

Arafinwë: (A little shyly) I...I just think that Eärwen is the most beautiful maiden in the world. My mother is beautiful too, of course, as are many other women, but they're all different from Eärwen. They seem to be lacking something compared with her. Or it could be that they're just not Eärwen. Whenever I look at her, I couldn't breathe and couldn't move. Whenever I stand in front of her, I lose my words and speak with stammers.

Fëanáro: Ah, love on first sight. How familiar! But what about desire? Have you ever wanted to embrace her and kiss her, and give her joy and pain?

Arafinwë: How could I ever what to give her pain? I want to take her hand in mine and play with her in the gardens, and tell her the name of each flower. I want to sing to her and hear her sing her people's balads. I wish to describe her loveliness with poems and send them to her chamber, and lie in my bed in excitement, imagining how she will smile and weep at my words.

Fëanáro: How pure! But this is not true desire. I know what desire is; desire is wanting to be one with your love, and gives him the greatest punishment if he dares refuse.

Lalwendë: But why would you want him hurt if you love him? I used to love a man secretly in my heart. He is a Noldor, with chestnut hair and honey-colored eyes, like an Elf that walks out of a dream. But he already has someone he loves, and I could only watch him from afar. Whenever I saw him hand in hand with his lover, laughing and talking, I felt that my heart would split and I would die.

Fëanáro: The pain of unwanted seperation. How familiar! But what about desire? Have you ever thought of taking him?

Lalwendë: How could I? They are the fated pair, already engaged by then. I would rather have my heart broken into pieces than watch them torn apart. My dignity did not allow me to interfere, and my love for him did not allow me to take away the happiness he already had.

Fëanáro: How pure! You did love him, but this is not true desire. I know what desire is; desire is wanting to own the one you love, to have his loving gaze never moving from you, not even for a second.

Findis: You do have your own understanding on desire, Your Highness.

Fëanáro: What about you? How do you understand lust?

Findis: I'm afraid I cannot help you. I am the Valar's servant and apprentice, sworn to remain celibate in order to better understand the mystery of the Music and Eä. But I have been listening, Your Highness, and I have a question.

Fëanáro: Speak.

Findis: When you describe a lover, you used "he." Are you in love with a man?

Arafinwë: I failed to notice, with only Eärwen on my mind!

Lalwendë: I failed to notice, with only sorrow in my heart!

Fëanáro: This is none of your concern.

Findis: You went to see our brother Ñolofinwë, and you returned like _this_.

Fëanáro: You know he is Ñolofinwë?

Findis: I didn't manage to tell you.

Fëanáro: Ha! Now my desire and shame will be the laughingstock of Valinor.

_Enter Ñolofinwë._

Ñolofinwë: What an extraordinary debate.

Fëanáro: Go away. Your face taints my eyes.

Ñolofinwë: I will go nowhere. If my brother does not wish to see me, he'll have to leave himself.

Lalwendë: Arakáno! When did you come back?

Ñolofinwë: Since our dear brother commanded you to stay.

Arafinwë: I'm so sorry, brother. It was I who told Fëanáro the destination of your pilgrimage. I'm so sorry, I didn't know it was you.

Ñolofinwë: It is not your fault, Ingoldo.

Findis: Are you alright, Ñolofinwë?

Ñolofinwë: I'm well.

Fëanáro: You should not be well. I spoiled your dirty plot.

Ñolofinwë: If you say so. But I heard your conversation and is very interested. You wish to know what desire is? I can help you remember.

Findis: Remember? Oh, please don't be...

Fëanáro: If you are the one to remind me, I would rather not recall it.

Ñolofinwë: I will not allow you to forget.

(The servants brings Ñolofinwë seven robes, each in a different color)

Fëanáro: What are you doing?

Ñolofinwë: Showing you what is desire, my dear Fëanáro.

(Ñolofinwë dances in the robes at the center of the hall, and removes the robes during he dances until he is naked)

Indis: Why does he throw away his shame? Arakáno is no such child.

Finwë: What's shameless about this? The Quendi who woke by the water were naked.

Indis: Your children grew up in the Blessed Land, and know what is proper and what is improper.

Fëanáro: What are you trying to express?

Ñolofinwë: You were fascinated.

Fëanáro: I was not.

Ñolofinwë: Your cruel thin lips are parted, your eyes are dazed and your cheeks are flushed. What a familiar sight. I can even hear your heartbeat, heavy as drums and as fast as the Eagles' flapping wings.

Fëanáro: What are you trying to tell me by performing this obscenity?

Ñolofinwë: Did you not notice, brother? I thought you are the best in understanding among the Eldar. The seven robes are in the seven colors that form the light of the Trees, and the light of the Trees is a symbol of purity. I took them off and threw them away, and it was abandoning my purity. This is desire. Giving up your chastity and indulge in degeneration.

Fëanáro: You mean the moment the Eldar loses the light of the Trees is the moment they lose their purity?

Ñolofinwë: Who knows. You're in distress, Fëanáro. Lust burns you, yet you have nowhere to release it. Come to my chamber, let me help you.

Fëanáro: Don't even think about it.

Ñolofinwë: But how can I leave and left you here alone, miserable as the cold of wind and water smother the flame of lust? If you insist that I should leave, then I could only cut off your head as you wish.

Fëanáro: How dare you.

Ñolofinwë: I will be waiting. I told you that I only want one day of passion, I haven't changed my mind. If you come, never again will I disturb you. If you do not, I will claim your life.

Fëanáro: I will _not_ go!


	4. Scene IV

Scene IV: In Ñolofinwë's chamber, the fourth day of the feast. During the Mingling.

Ñolofinwë: Ah, you've come, Fëanáro. My love.

Fëanáro: I hate myself.

Ñolofinwë: Why do you resist me thus? I just want to love you for one day, Fëanáro. I just want to kiss your mouth. I haven't even kissed you properly. You want to kiss me too, don't you?

Fëanáro: Will you be satisfied if you have my head?

Ñolofinwë: Of course not, but at least I can kiss you, Fëanáro. I can spread your eyelids so that you look upon my face, this face that you loathe, and kiss your lips. I can pretend that you love all of me; not just my hair, my eyes, my body and my lips, but my face as well.

Fëanáro: I will never love that last one. It is Vénë that I love, my pure Vénë, and he had no name or face, just my lunatic fantasy.

Ñolofinwë: My poor brother. Come to me, and I'll fuck you from behind. You won't see my face, and your Vénë shall be back.

Fëanáro: (Go to him weeping) I hate myself.

......

Ñolofinwë: Ah, Fëanáro, is this what you feel when you were inside me? You are so hot and so tight. Why on earth did you leave me?

Fëanáro: Oh ... Ohhh ... Those Vanyarin traits of yours disgust me!

Ñolofinwë: Don't you love the white of my body?

Fëanáro: Your body is hideous. It is like a plastered wall where vipers have crawled and the scorpions have made their nest. It is like my mother's sepulchre under the stars. No, there, don't!

Ñolofinwë: Don't you love the black of my hair?

Fëanáro: Your hair is disgusting, covered with mire and dust. Oh, please, not so fast! It is like a crown woven with thorns, like a knot of black serpents writhing round your neck.

Ñolofinwë: Don't you love the blue of my eyes?

Fëanáro: You eyes are full of sins. They're like the poisoned mushroom with bright color in the woods, seducing the travelers for a taste. They're like the dust on Míriel's old tapestries. I ... I'm going to ...

Ñolofinwë: Don't you love my lips? Don't you want to kiss me?

Fëanáro: You ... you ... Ahhh, my love, let me kiss you, let me kiss your lips!

Ñolofinwë: But if you turn to look at me, you will hate me.

Fëanáro: I hate myself!

(Ñolofinwë covers Fëanáro's eyes with his hand, and turned around his head to kiss him)

Ñolofinwë: Ah, I've kissed your lips, Fëanáro. I have kissed thy mouth. It tasted bitter. Was it the taste of blood when you bit my tongue, or was it the tears I feel beneath my palm? Or perhaps this is the taste of love.

Fëanáro: Ñolofinwë ... I ... I'm so close ... !

Ñolofinwë: You said my name, Fëanáro. Your voice is sweeter than the wine that father has given me. How beautiful you are, Fëanáro, how beautiful you are!

......

(Afterwards, Ñolofinwë holds Fëanáro from behind, and Fëanáro turns to look upon his face)

Ñolofinwë: You've seen my face, Fëanáro. You must hate me. You can hate me now, Fëanáro. I am satisfied, and I will not demand more. If you do not wish to stay for a second longer, you may go.

(Fëanáro stared at him, face starting to twitch; he suddenly rushed to the wall the took a hunting knife in his hand, piercing it towards his own neck)

Ñolofinwë: (Hastily followed and caught his hand) No, no, Fëanáro! Don't do this, please.

Fëanáro: (The knife slipps from his hand, and he pushed Ñolofinwë to the wall to kiss him fiercely) I love you, I love you, I love thee.

(Fëanáro lets go of him and leaves; Ñolofinwë kneels on the floor, arms spreading towards the light of the Trees out of the window, with a pious expression on his face and two lines of tears on his cheeks)

Ñolofinwë: I have kissed thy mouth, Fëanáro.

**Curtain**


End file.
